Over the Eternal Garden Wall and Into the Unknown
by Wildtail of Wind
Summary: Down deep in the midst of mystery and wonder lies a place few have seen. A place where frogs sing reveries of beauty and lost pilgrims. A place where children go to play and lost souls go to wander. A mysterious place, called the Unknown. Where long forgotten wishes wipe away canon endings and bring forth better, darker, and more emotional adventures than ever before.
1. Chapter 1: Farewell

**Chapter 1: Farewell**

"Come with us," Wirt offered suddenly once his little brother Gregory was securely on his back and his frog tucked away in his arms.

Beatrice shook her head sadly. "Wirt, I've got to go home too. Tell my family it's my fault they're bluebirds." She let out a regretful sigh, her usually calm and collected mood dampened by the events of the day.

Wirt cleared his throat with a small smile, revealing to the solemn bluebird a glistening pair of golden scissors that resembled a bird. When she didn't say anything, the fifteen year-old added, "The scissors — that will make your family human again."

Beatrice's humanly intelligent eyes widened in shock. "What?" She stammered, blue wings bursting open in surprise, which quickly turned into irritation. "You had them all along?!"

"I-I used them to escape Adelaide and then —" the gnome-costumed boy explained, the next part coming out sheepishly, "and yeah, I was sorta mad at you."

The traumatized human-turned-bluebird began to tear up, pure emotion finally taking its toll on her. Unable to hold back her gratitude, she flew up to Wirt from her Edlewood perch and enveloped him in a big, feathery hug. "Oh, you wonderful mistake of nature," she sobbed, a single tear falling from her eye.

Wirt stiffened for a moment, the gesture unexpected. The rude bluebird didn't seem the type to thank anyone for anything and even now her joy could not fully extinguish her annoyance of him. _Hey. At least she called me wonderful._ Remembering Beatrice's family's request, Wirt returned her embrace (which was somehow not at all uncomfortable, considering she was a bird) with a content grin on his face. He let her stay there for a while, then she pulled away, trying to smile as well.

"So you're going to take Greg home, huh," she sighed, regret in her gaze.

Wirt nodded, repositioning his younger brother who had begun to slip off. He had just rescued Gregory from the Beast, a monstrous creature of evil, and the poor fellow had nearly been drained of his life. Wirt ached to know that it had been his fault all along, despite Gregory's rebuttal. Diverting his mind from his half-brother, Wirt took in Beatrice's depressing fake grin, which somehow made him feel worse than before.

"Then I guess this is goodbye." His friend, who had become so dear to him though their trials, let out a shaky breath.

Wirt felt a stab of disappointment. He would have to take Greg home and probably never see Beatrice again. "I -" Wirt frowned, unable to accept it. There had to be a way. There had to be a happy ending to their story. Then, an idea, "Then let us come with you."

"With me?" Beatrice echoed, more shocked than before. "I thought you had to go home. Why would you want to come with me?"

Wirt pressed his mouth into a thin line. Why did he want to come with her? "Because," the boy started, frantically searching for an answer. _Because what? Oh, if only the sea didn't crash so heavily into the shore, the current a rickety waterfall for fish to climb for fear of failing. For along that path led —_

"Wirt!" The bluebird snapped him to attention. He wasn't sure if she was expressing her urgency out of impatience or caution. Beatrice was flapping restlessly in the air and she kept glancing at the Woodsman and the Beast from across the clearing. "Wirt, I really don't care what kind of dorky delusion you're in, but if we don't leave right now they might not let us have another chance. You might not have another chance to go," she warned, a hidden message behind her words. "Gregory needs you, Wirt."

"I know." Wirt let out a sigh, his resources drained. Of course. He was just being selfish, that's all. He just wanted to keep his friend.

"I'm sorry," the bird comforted him in a soft voice, full of melancholy. "Goodbye, Wirt."

The boy had to hold back tears, his hand clenched tightly around the witch's magical scissors. "Goodbye —" Wirt paused. "Wait." _The scissors._ She hadn't taken them from him. "Beatrice. Beatrice, come here." Wirt beckoned her into the trees, trying to get out of eyesight. He didn't want the Beast to confront them again. Once he made it to a secluded area, the light of the sun filtering through the trees so he could see, Wirt looked behind him to see if she followed. She had.

"Give me your wings so I can cut them," Wirt demanded. She froze. "If I can't come with you, at least give me this honor. I want to see how you look. As a human."

Reluctantly, Beatrice came to him, sitting on a tree stump for stability. She nodded her agreement, gulping nervously.

_Here goes . . . _Wirt took a deep breath, lifting one of her delicate blue wings with his hand as he attempted to steady his other, which was trembling madly. Every possible thing that could go wrong ran through his mind. He could slip or drop and break the scissors or even worse — what if they weren't even real?! But he didn't have much choice, now did he? Experimenting with them, he cut off one of her flight feathers, startled when it exploded in a shower of sparkles. "I-is that supposed to happen?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes, dummy. That's how it works." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh. I thought I had to literally clip off your wings," he responded, relieved beyond measure. He thought he could see her relax as well. Soon all of her flight feathers were gone, and in a brilliant burst of light she transformed from a beautiful bird into a girl. She had red hair tied up in a bun and was attired in a long, blue silk gown. Her cheeks were flushed and freckled nicely and . . . she was taller than him. He hung his mouth open in surprise.

She giggled in amusement and plucked the scissors from his hand. "Thank you, Wirt," she smirked, her voice the only thing that was the same as before. "I guess you can go now."

It took him a while, but he answered, "Uh, yeah. I'm gonna get going now. Goodbye Beatrice."

"Goodbye Wirt."

o-o-o-o

Everything felt as if he were dreaming, fuzziness overwhelming the seven year-old boy's senses. He thought he could hear voices, although the undecodable murmurings that surrounded him could have been nothing but his imagination. With great effort and curiosity, Greg forced open his eyes a crack, struggling to keep them open so his sight could clarify the familiar noises. Unable to make anything out, Wirt's younger brother closed them again and relaxed, allowing the teen's welcoming warmth shield him from the bitter cold that engulfed him entirely before.

* * *

><p><strong>This is my first fanfiction! ^o^ I really hope you enjoyed it. Please tell me what you all think as a review and if you want more. I'm planning for this to be a long-term story, so I'll need long-term readers!<strong>

**Oh, and I forgot to mention: Thanks to Star The Catfox for helping with the story and concept! I can't bear to describe my gratitude!**


	2. Chapter 2: Light of My Life

**Chapter 2: Light of My Life**

Meanwhile in the midst of the snowy Unknown, a conflict had reached its climax, an emotional battle that could change the fate of many in its outcome.

The sudden realization that his daughter's soul had not been in the lantern crushed the old lumberjack with an unbelievable force, regret and disbelief rushing through him in great waves. He had cut down dozens and dozens of Edelwood trees to keep the dark lantern's flame going all in attempt to save his daughter's spirit from fading away into the darkness, never to be seen again. The man had been grinding the remains of lost souls for seasons upon end, using the trees of hope-stripped life. But it had all been a lie. Everything. All so the Beast could continue to haunt the woods in peace and not have to worry about a lantern's flame slowly flickering out.

The Woodsman looked up at the Beast in a mixture of shock, horror and sadness, all of his deeds catching up to him. His voice was shaky, but not uncertain as he asked, "She was never in the lantern, was she, Beast?"

The creature of shadows matched the Woodsman's gaze, his eerie eyes glowing brightly through the dimness. The contrast held a creepy air, as if they were peering into his mind to find his deepest, darkest secrets. "Listen, Woodsman," the Beast commanded as a chilly gust of wind swept across the ground between them. "_Listen to me._"

The Woodsman felt the monster speaking behind him, directly in his ear, although the old man had only glanced away for a brief second. Even if the Beast wasn't a physical form, he was still fast and unpredictable. It was a miracle that that wasn't an issue in terms of getting rid of him. The Beast couldn't touch the lantern, nor the Woodsman no matter how much he wanted to. So if he wanted to take a chance . . . The Woodsman lifted the lantern up high, so he could see inside its fiery depths. The glow of what seemed to be countless lost souls swirled inside, the deep orange hue he knew so well radiating from the object.

"The boy was wrong. I just wanted to protect her. I've _always _wanted to protect her. For you, Woodsman, " the Beast explained, gesturing to him with a shadowy hand. "Everything I've done so far has meant to help you."

The Woodsman took in a quick breath, beginning to doubt himself. Was the Beast really telling the truth? Or was this all a ploy? Turning around to face him, the grieving father searched the Beast's face for sincerity, but none was to be found in the dark void broken only by his piercing orbs. Despite that, the Woodsman lowered the lantern, if by only an inch.

Encouraged that the Woodsman was swaying from his threatening position, the Beast continued, "I've only been reminding you all this time that your daughter needed your attention so she could continue to live. The two boys were against you. So I had to get rid of them. But the older boy was so lost already that I hardly had to give any effort in removing his little brother from the Unknown. He was so determined to do what he felt was right that it was easy for me to get him to help you and your daughter. The small one brought me the things I needed to turn him into an Edlewood willingly, after all."

The Woodsman fought to keep his will, but it was fading fast.

"And the elder nearly blew out your daughter's flame," the Beast added, his tone becoming malicious. "I couldn't let that happen, now could I? Not after you've worked so hard to keep it lit."

The old man's grip on the lantern began to weaken, as he visually trembled with the memory. Perhaps the Beast was telling the truth after all and the creature had been on his side the entire time.

"You see, Woodsman?" the Beast offered convincingly. "All who perish here will become trees for your lantern. Cut them down with your axe! Go! Now!"

For a moment, the man stood motionless, save for his hand tightening once more. Could he really do that? Could he really continue on as before, chopping trees with this knowledge? It would save his daughter's life, but how many more would he have to take? Hundreds? Thousands? It was unacceptable. The man, unable to take the pressure of keeping the accursed flame lit, lifted the lantern to eye-level once more.

The Beast, noticing what he was about to do, let out an aggressive cry, "Stop! You'll never see your daughter again, Woodsman. Are you really ready to go back to that empty house?"

The Woodsman took a breath, beginning to tear up. But it had to be done. It had to.

"_No!_ _Woodsman!_" the Beast wailed, a horrifying sound, although a tad bit early for panic. The old man had not let released his breath, unable to blow it out at the last moment. Tears left their marks on the old man's face, wet streams of distress that reflected the orange light of the lantern. To the Beast's astonishment, the old man lowered the lantern completely, only then allowing himself to let out his breath. In the end, the old man couldn't bring himself to let the light go out, much to the Beast's relief.

The Woodsman stood with his head tilted towards the floor, in indescribable emotional pain. "All these poor lost souls . . ." he mumbled, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he mourned. "I'm sorry. I've failed you all."

All but the Beast, who held in his smugness as he gazed upon the Woodsman. A pathetic figure, one that could not even blow out a candle. The old man had proved himself useful all these years and now the Beast was certain that he needn't worry ever again that the lantern would stay bright. "Are you done yet, Woodsman?" The dark figure tipped his head to the side. "The flame will run out of oil to burn soon."

The Woodsman glanced up at the Beast, defeated finally. Without a word, he retrieved the axe near Gregory's Edlewood sapling and disappeared into the forest, axe in one hand, lantern in the other.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter two already! Wow! I have to say, I'm quite impressed with this one, although it's a bit short. From here on out it will all start to get more original, so you won't have to read the show again. XD (Can't say watch because this is a fanfic . . .) How did you feel? Any speculations on what might happen next? Leave a review and tell me what you think!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3: Determination is Key

**Chapter 3: Determination is Key**

Wirt trudged slowly out of the Unknown — or so he thought. Each snow-covered tree he passed seemed to be the same as the one before; every step he took was heavy and pained, the burden of his brother and companionable frog weighing him down. The snowing had ceased earlier that day and the blanket of white on the ground appeared untouched, no footprints to be found. That was an encouraging sign, at least.

The boy's dark blue cape whipped in the wind, the red lining becoming battered with the wind's offerings of small bits of ice and fallen leaves. Without the thick canopy to close off the view above, the once blocked heavens were open to the eye, the break of dawn spreading warm beams of color across the night sky.

Wirt wiped cold sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, puffing out a breath like fog. The deep chill of the air crystallized the moisture from his mouth and the human-made smoke blended into the surrounding gloom with relative ease. It felt like ages since he bid farewell to Beatrice, but Wirt still hadn't found a single sign that he was on the right track. _I thought finding the way back home would be obvious . . ._ The teen observed the bleak setting with a sigh, regret and hopelessness beginning to set in. Even so, Wirt continued forth with as much determination as he could muster, one foot in front of the other, eyeing the scenery for distinguishing landmarks but coming up disappointedly empty. _Maybe I should have stayed with Beatrice like I wanted to._ Wirt frowned, the former bluebird's image popping into his mind at the thought. _At least _she _accepts me, unlike everyone else. Sara probably — no, she_ does _think I'm a loser and I don't even know if anyone even cares that I'm gone. I wonder if they even noticed with that Jason Funderberker there, the center of attention. Good old Jason Funderberker!_ Wirt let out a bitter laugh at the mention of his rival. _Gregory needs help but really, I think I'm better off here. Here I actually feel like I'm worth something. Maybe Beatrice was right all along. Maybe I do belong in the Unknown._

Wirt's eyes became cloudy and he felt suddenly exhausted, as if he could not bear to carry on any further. He wanted to curl up in the snow and rest forever. But he couldn't do that. No, he couldn't. Shaking his head to rid the thought, Wirt managed to carry on against the freezing wind despite his body's protests. Gregory's weight seemed to help him instead of hinder his progress, allowing for a welcome reminder that he was doing this for someone he cared about. For someone he loved.

o-o-o-o

Wirt's feet had nearly fallen off from overuse by the time he found a place where he thought it would be safe to stop. His cargo had wore him to the point of utter desperation and the break in the tree-filled landscape filled him with insurmountable joy. An empty hill sloped down into a small field of grasses and shrubs covered in a thin layer of ice, broken only by a frozen stream that snaked its way across the surface. Without a second thought, Wirt stumbled down the hill, nearly forgetting to keep his load balanced as he did. Claiming a patch of ground, he gratefully set Gregory and the frog on the chilled floor and laid down beside them, the frost hardly a concern for the older boy. Wirt let out a satisfied sigh of relief as he shut his eyes. All he wanted to do now was relax. Relax and —

"Wirt . . . W-wirt . . ."

At the sound of a familiar voice calling his name, the tired teen snapped to attention, sitting up suddenly. Wirt's eyes darted around the clearing and came to rest on his younger brother with a gasp. The brown-haired seven year-old was sprawled on the grass with his eyes clenched tightly shut, his muscles twitching every few seconds as he attempted to form words of his own.

"Greg! Greg, it's me, Wirt!" Wirt exclaimed, bending over his brother in concern. The teen placed a hand on Gregory's shoulder, immediately comforting the young figure. The small boy's eyes relaxed under their lids as he exhaled, a sign that Wirt's presence had soothed him. The eldest smiled softly, reassured that his brother would make it no matter what the Beast had said. "I'm going to get you home, Greg," Wirt vowed, surety giving him strength. "I promise."

o-o-o-o

After a short nap in the winter daylight, Wirt stretched his arms and legs, prepared to journey on and save Gregory, something that didn't seem as far away as it had.

"Alright, Greg," he announced, lifting his brother up off of the ground, beaming. "It's time to go."

Frog in hand, Wirt carried along, intent on following the stream out of the Unknown — or as far out as he could get using its guidance. His shoes crunched the brittle plants beneath them as he walked and the now-gentle breeze carried the promising scent of spring.

The quick sleep in the field had cleared Wirt's mind, gifting him with an optimistic reverie of what was in store and a faithful desire that the happy ending he had imagined would become a reality. And no one was there to tell him otherwise.

* * *

><p><strong>A little transition chapter. I wouldn't call it exciting, but it contains many elements of the story that I need to build off of. Get inside Wirt's head a little more, explore the Unknown, actually write an original chapter of my own, yada yada . . . Anyway, I'd still like a review from all you wonderful readers as always. ;) Tell me what you think! What do you believe will happen next? I'll give you a hint: It'll be more suspenseful than this! XD<strong>


	4. Chapter 4: I'll Be There

**Chapter 4: I'll Be There**

"You know, Greg, they say it's not about the destination; it's about the journey," the gnome-dressed boy mused absent-mindedly, breathing in a whiff of the cool breeze, the smell of nature freeing his senses as he ambled along the side of the thawing river and calmly listened to the rattling of the branches of the trees that lined the top of the hill. "I remember how you said the other day that the time we spent in the Unknown should be spent in hope and prosperity and I think now I understand what you meant. I can find it in me to appreciate things more and 'feel the dirt' and 'smell that tree', as you call it." Wirt expressed a mixture of an amused chuckle and an appeased sigh. The teen had taken to talking to his brother ever since the revelation that his half-brother was still alive and possible to revive. He figured that his voice would help alleviate whatever Gregory was going through and it comforted himself as well to hear spoken language to break the silence every now and then.

Wirt continued to follow the easy path of the stream, letting his mind drift astray from his troubles. Passing over a fallen log, the fifteen year-old found it in him to recite poetry, but a different kind than his usual variety. The bliss of the late evening had overtaken him and, in a forceful need to express his merriment, pushed aside the solemn vocabulary he normally used in place of more serene and uplifting words.

"The brilliant light of day sings a pure melody to those who care to listen, as the placid lapping of the stream comforts those in need. I wander through the joyous snow-covered pasture, carrying the happiness of life on my shoulders and the being of friendship and humor in my hands. My soul is free; I fly higher than a bird and lighter than a feather drifting towards the ground; the ambient music of the breeze lulling me into peace." Wirt took a deep breath after that last line, feeling rather satisfied with his work. After a minute of walking in comfortable silence, the older brother added, "Greg, sometimes I wonder why I never felt like this before we came to the Unknown. Maybe it's better here. Or maybe I just never cared to take a look around." Not expecting a reply, Wirt quieted himself, becoming content with simply allowing his surroundings carry him back into their world of wonder.

o-o-o-o

The half-moon peeked out from beneath the clouds, illuminating the ground below in a bluish tint of color. Wirt gazed upon the reflectant stream with sleepy eyes, having traveled all day with hardly any rest. Off in the distance, an owl hooted, the sound echoing from the cliff to the side. Crickets chirped under the stars and the air was scented with the fresh chill of night.

Gregory slept peacefully on Wirt's back, his even breaths able to be heard over the crashing of a nearby waterfall. Wirt paused. _Wait. Waterfall?_ The teen squinted his eyes, following the path of the river ahead. It was too dark to be sure, but Wirt thought he could see the covering of ice break up more near the surface of the water. The slow current had picked up speed and even further down, the stream came to an abrupt halt, a moonlit formation of mist escaping the cliff below.

Not wanting to mistakenly slip off the edge of the cliff, Wirt slowed his pace and kept his eyes to the ground, searching for any sharp slopes that may cause him and his load to fall. Soon the teen reached the barest edge of what was walkable, seeing the Unknown from his vantage point and gazing upon the vast stretches of forest in awe. Closer to the cliff was a clearing bathed in darkness, but the shadowy figures below were too hard to make out in the dim light of the moon.

"Wow," Wirt breathed in astonishment. "The forest goes on and on, doesn't it? I never thought it could be this big." The frog in his hands, ironically named Jason Funderburker by Wirt himself, croaked in what sounded like agreement. Wirt jumped, startled, and nearly toppled down the cliff with Gregory's added weight. Jason gave another scared croak, holding on to Wirt tightly.

"Whoa, that sure was a fright," Wirt remarked, immediately taking a few shaky steps away from the cliff edge. Looking down at his now-awake frog, Wirt added, "Never, _ever_ do that again, okay?" The frog simply ribbited again, scrambling out of Wirt's grasp and hopping onto the grass in search of bugs to eat.

Watching Jason Funderburker snapping up small flies and crickets made Wirt's stomach growl, weirdly. _I didn't realize how hungry I was,_ Wirt realized, glancing around to see if there were any familiar fruits or vegetables growing nearby. The only plantlife Wirt could find were small bushes that yielded nothing edible, a few purple and pink flowers, and the many, many trees that shrouded this part of the Unknown. He sighed in disappointment. "Nothing to do about it, I guess."

About ready to stop for the night, Wirt picked Jason off of the ground and tucked the frog in the crook of his arm once more. It let out a cry of protest, but the boy didn't let it go. "Sorry buddy, but I need to find a way down this ledge. You can eat dinner later," he apologised with an empathetic smile.

Using his other arm to balance Gregory — who had become easy to carry after Wirt had done it for a while — he picked his way to the right of the cliff, trying to find an easy slope or path to the bottom. Overhanging branches blocked most of his view of the cliffside, but Wirt finally managed after a few minutes of seeking to find a jumble of large boulders leading to the ground about two hundred meters below, which was rather short for a waterfall. The rocks were rough and somewhat flat, the footholds within stepping distance of each other. If Wirt really wanted to, he could use the route to get down, but the immense height and untested path appeared dangerous, if not impossible to traverse. One of the rocks could fall or he might slip and plummet down the overbearing hillside to a horrible fate or —

Jason's croak snapped him out of his worrying, but that didn't stop Wirt from suggesting, "M-maybe we should look for a-another way down. One that isn't so life-threatening." Obviously displeased with the teen's doubt, the frog wriggled out of Wirt's hold once more and started quickly down the rock staircase before the boy could snatch him back. The gnome-dressed boy stood motionless at the top, too afraid to follow. _Jason's not really leaving,_ he attempted to reassure himself, keeping a close eye on the green figure as it continued to descend. _He'll come back once he realizes I'm not following._ Jason kept going, not slowing a bit. _Right?_ Nope.

Wirt tried to step onto the first rock with one of his mismatched shoes and staggered back when it triggered a handful of pebbles to tumble into nothingness. "G-greg doesn't really need that frog anyway. I-I'll get him a bunny instead," he attempted. "Y-yeah! A bunny!"

Wirt almost settled with that idea, when he heard Greg mumble in his sleep what sounded like a laugh. It was the first time he heard his brother laugh since the day before they met the Beast. Wirt frowned in guilt. "No, Greg would be heartbroken if anything happened to that frog." Gathering more courage than he ever thought was possible, Wirt stepped fully on top of the first rock, faintly surprised when it stayed firmly into the cliffside.

"Alright, world," he averred epically, holding Greg as tight as he could and leaning on the tall expanse of rock and dirt for support, "I'm coming down."

o-o-o-o

The first dozen rocks didn't give him any trouble at all and the fifteen year-old was becoming confident that the path would do in getting him and his brother to the ground without issue. That was the case, until he slipped. Wirt screamed in terror as his foot slid off of the ledge, his free hand grabbing furiously at the cliff for a handhold. His fingers missed the jutting rock by a mere centimeter, and he fell forward, his stomach doing flip-flops. _No, no, no, no, no!_ He felt his other foot slip and for a split second the two brothers were free falling, down, down, down, down.

At least, that was how it felt.

Wirt's breath was knocked out of him as he crashed into something hard as he and his brother suddenly came to a stop. Feeling a searing pain in the side of his face, as well as his right hand, which he used to break his fall, Wirt opened his eyes. In his blind terror, Wirt failed to notice the sole tree that stood on one of the middle sections of the cliff. Wirt was wedged between two branches, his brother still safely on his back. The teen's cheek and dominant hand were scraped up pretty badly, but both him and his brother were still in one piece and nothing was broken, so Wirt hadn't anything to complain about.

Slowly edging his way slowly down the tree with only the use of one hand and his legs, Wirt was able to reach the rock face again. Noticing that his fall had cleared only five boulders' length, Wirt felt a fresh wave of fear crash down on him. _There's no hope. I'll never make it._ The teen froze up, gazing down into the perilous depths below. Very far down, a small green speck could be seen under the moonlight, skipping from one rock to another effortlessly.

"Oh, Greg. Why does neither a sliver of sunlight escape the umbra of an eclipse, nor do ice cubes float in waves of magma, the sickening malevolence of an empty soul? Cannot the lone wolf stand upon a cliff in peace, howling to Earth's phosphorescent satellite of his own will?" Wirt calmed his panic with poetry, fixing his half-brother's position with the back of his bad hand. The position he was in was going to be tricky, but Wirt would just have to be more careful the rest of the way.

Taking more resolved steps, Wirt inched himself towards the next rock, testing his weight before stepping on it. Sighing in relief that he didn't fall again, Wirt tried the next boulder, then the next. He continued like this for a while, the constant scooting, experimenting and tiptoeing. It was well into the night before Wirt gained his confidence, striding down the stones with nearly as much surety as Jason Funderburker.

The tough traipse was taking its toll on the worn and hungry elder brother, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. Perspiration soaked his body, his long coverings plastered onto him as a result. But he was nearly halfway down the cliffside by now and he could feel the mist of the waterfall spraying into the air, adding to the chilled night breeze a way to cool down that he was entirely grateful for. Accustomed to the hard traveling, Wirt got used to keeping balanced without the use of his right hand and that allowed for many of the boulders to be of reach. His scraped cheek wasn't stinging as much, either.

His eyes scanned the next row of rocks and he chose the one that was more securely fit into the cliffside, leaping squarely on top of it. It dipped under his weight, but he was already on the next one before it could pop out or crack. He endured this constant pace, maintaining it with practiced skill and devotion, all the while checking on the position of Jason Funderburker. After close watch, Wirt noticed the frog hopped on the same stones Wirt did, although a few couple dozen in advance. _That clever frog,_ Wirt remarked silently. _He's been leading me all this time._

Giving up on his own judgement, Wirt hurried along faster than ever, following Jason exactly in where he set his feet. Again and again and again, he advanced on the critter until the frog was only one stone ahead. Both were panting from exhaustion by then, the frog and the human.

Not wanting to startle his companion with an unexpected comment, Wirt stayed silent save for the occasional grunts that left his mouth.

They were nearing the bottom, lingering only fifty feet below. Wirt took in a shaky breath. _Forty feet._ Jason almost slipped on a covering of ice on one of the rocks. _Thirty feet._ Wirt felt a sense of achievement at getting this close. _Twenty feet._ Gregory began laughing in his sleep once more. _Ten feet._ Wirt picked Jason Funderberker off of the boulder so the frog could rest on his back. _Ground level._

The second Wirt's foot touched solid earth, he let out a cry of relief, his muscles aching with the buildup of strain. "Finally," he thanked, pure giddiness overtaking his senses. "_Finally._" Jason croaked as well, letting out a sigh. It was done. Over six hundred feet of rocky danger and it was finally done.

The waterfall crashed into a pool at the bottom of the cliff, another small stream leading from it into the dark forest. Familiar looking Oak trees mingled their way into the forest below, the milk-light of the moon casting them in a spooky light. Wirt pondered sleeping here for a moment, but a ground-shaking crash behind him broke his train of thought. A couple large boulders that came loose during Wirt's jumping had rolled down the cliff in a massive landslide, one that could easily crush two boys and their frog. He hated that, but setting up camp that close to the waterfall wasn't going to be possible. He would have to find somewhere else.

Forcing his limp legs to get a move on, Wirt decided to follow the stream like before, vanishing into the shadow of the forest in search of a clearing.

o-o-o-o

It wasn't too long before the seemingly endless stretch of trees began to thin out, revealing to the boy something he never thought he would see again: a mill. And not just any mill. It was the old grist mill — the first place him and his brother came to after meeting the Woodsman in the Unknown.

The wooden building had been rebuilt since Wirt's last visit, the rooftops covered in a fresh coat of snow. Wirt nearly cried out in glee. Here was a warm place with shelter and probably food too. _The Woodsman will let us come in again, right? I'm sure he will,_ Wirt tried to assure himself as he sped across the stepping stones and onto the other side of the frozen stream.

"Hey!" Wirt called, waving his arm in the air as he approached. "It's me, Wirt! I need help! My brother and I, we need help!"

Not a light flickered from inside, the shutters and doors closed tightly. "Are you in there, Woodsman?! Sir?!" Not a sound except the howling of the wind.

Then without any warning at all, Wirt tripped on his untied shoelaces and fell into one of the mounds of snow, his limbs locking up from the frigid cold and exhaustion. _No. I-I was too close to fail. Too close._ He could only feel his disappointment for a moment before even that faded into numbness, the cold pulling him into its cruel grasp.

His faded sorrows. His faded life.

* * *

><p><strong>Heh. Heh he heh he . . . -starts evil laughing- Lol. You should see your face right now. XD Anyway, apart from my amusement, I would like to note that this is my longest and favorite chapter I've written so far. It proved quite a challenge and I deviated from my original layout quite a bit, but I am impressed with how this one turned out. It may not be exactly what you were expecting, but that's why I'm here. To give you the unexpected. -winks-<strong>

**So . . . another thing. Reviews. I've not been getting as many of them as I'd like and it really puts me in the dumps. So, I'm waving a green flag here when I say REVIEW. Please. DX I just want to know how my readers are taking this and if there are any areas where I need to improve or any characters/places/things that need to be brought into the story. (By popular demand, guys. If you all want to see a character - Lorna for example - I'll most likely put her in the fanfic if it wasn't already planned.) Also, it really makes my day to hear from great people like you, even if it's criticism. **

**Hmm. Maybe I need a catchphrase. "Leave a review. It comes with cookies." I dunno. Catchphrases aren't really my thing. xD**


	5. Chapter 5: Reunion

**Chapter 5: Reunion**

"Poor boy. I do hope it's not too late." A voice roused Wirt from the darkness that engulfed him, a wavering sound that he couldn't quite distinguish. His head throbbed; the chill from before only partially subsided.

_Where am I?_ The gnome-dressed teen wondered, his thoughts obscured by the strange pressure on his skull, like something was sitting heavily on it. He tried to move his arms and legs, but that resulted in a terrible pain that made the teen want to cry. Slowly opening his eyes instead, he attempted to make out the face in the blur, only barely succeeding. Although nothing was clear, Wirt thought he could spot a large middle-aged figure bending over him, which he decided was the owner of the voice.

"W-woodsman?" he choked out softly, beginning to feel the warmth trickle back into his body at a slow pace. "I-is that you?"

The unknown person hovering above the boy took a quick breath, a gasp, even. Then, "You _are_ awake! What a relief!"

Wirt tried to focus his eyes — and his ears for that matter, but every time he neared determining the being's identity his headache threw him off. "Mmph . . ." he mumbled, his voice muffled by what he believed to be his navy nurse's cape, which must've covered his head when he fell. "G-greg . . . Wh-where? Woodsman?"

The boy felt a hand rest reassuringly on his stomach from on top of a cotton sheet. _I'm laying on a bed, _he realized suddenly. _Indoors._ So that wasn't his cape that was covering his face, after all.

"Your brother is resting in the other room," came the reply. Wirt tried to sit up once more, but was pushed down again, this time by his rescuer. "You need to get some rest, too. Your brother is in good hands."

Wirt managed a reluctant nod, his consciousness already fading. There wasn't much in him to argue. Shutting his eyes again, the immobile boy fell back into his quiet abyss, the sound of a crackling fire caressing him into a dreamless sleep.

o-o-o-o

When the teen finally arose, the time seemed to have passed significantly — and so had his predicament. Wirt could move his muscles with somewhat bearable soreness and his headache subsided, thankfully. Smiling at that, Wirt sat up fully in bed, rubbing his eyes with his hands to clear them. Once done and his sight regained, Wirt took a curious glance around the room.

The intuitive male immediately recognized the cream-colored wallpaper and large dark-green trim to be the designing choices of the mill-house — now repaired of the damage he had wreaked before. "So that _was_ the Woodsman that saved me," he deducted with surety. "I knew it." Satisfied with that mystery, Wirt attempted to get out of bed, wincing when he put too much weight on his legs. Apparently they had grown sensitive due to his overexertion the other day.

"Well, I probably won't be able to travel in this condition," he sighed disappointedly, moving himself back into his original position. The teen pressed his mouth into a frown and sighed again. No way was he going to be able to carry Gregory after all that. Not a chance.

Deciding not to waste a moment when he could be recovering, Wirt laid down one more time, his wistful eyes set to the ceiling as he watched shadows dance across the surface. He was growing bored when abruptly came a knock at the bedroom door.

Wirt started, and a sharp pain erupted in his arm when he used it to push himself up. He whimpered in discomfort just as the door opened, revealing not the Woodsman — no, the visitor wasn't a man at all. Wirt's company was a woman, in fact, with auburn hair tied up and concealed behind a white bonnet. She wore a navy blue jacket and dress with a rather washed-out tone, and her plump cheeks were as freckled and flushed as another girl he knew — Beatrice.

Wirt struggled to find the right words to address this lady, but she beat him to it, already stepping into the room with a porcelain bowl of steaming liquid in her hands.

"I thought I heard noises in here," she stated, her tone sounding like Wirt was but a child getting caught stealing from the cookie-jar. "How long have you been up?"

"N-not long," the Wirt answered, watching her as she walked over to the bedside and set the soup down on a small desk. He could now see that it was tomato soup, like the kind he used to sip when he was sick at home, except this one was more chunky, pieces of vegetables floating around in an appetizing red broth. The famished teen could hardly take his eyes off it.

"Are you feeling alright?" the woman questioned, sounding genuinely concerned.

Wirt nodded. "Just hungry and sore. I've been worse," he offered, massaging his arms with his hands. "Thank you for helping Greg and me out of the snow. I'm not sure I would have been able to go on any further."

"It's no trouble at all," she smiled. "I heard your cries late last night from the mill and came as quickly as I could, but the door became jammed with a piece of wood. When I finally made it out, you, your brother and a frog were passed out near the doorstep. Why ever were you out so late in the night?"

"I-it's a long story," he admitted, his mind eager and his stomach empty. "Can I see Gregory now?"

She seemed to consider it for a while, then suggested, "If you're feeling well enough, why don't you take your soup and join the rest of the family in the dining room? My daugher has been talking a lot about you lately. I'd suppose she'd be pleased to see you again. Then after that you might be able to visit your brother."

"You mean Beatrice? She's here?" he asked suddenly, his attention off of the food for once.

The former bluebird's mother nodded, happy that she would be able to satisfy both her daughter and Wirt. "I'll carry your food for you."

That was all it took for the fifteen year-old to get himself out of bed, but he encountered the same difficulty standing. Wirt hissed through his teeth, forcing himself to move his feet. _I can do it. It's just from here to the dinner table._

Beatrice's mom had the bowl in her hands when she offered with a frown, "Do you need to stay here? You don't have to walk if you're not ready."

"No, I'm fine. Everything's just . . . really sore." Determined not to let Beatrice down, Wirt trudged out of the bedroom, thankful that the dining area was near the room he'd occupied. Each footstep was like swimming in a pool of tiny needles. Small amounts of pain, all at once. Again, again, again.

Once Wirt was at the end of the hall, a chorus of joyful noises reached his ears. His mouth quirked up in a smile at all the children running around, playing on the stairs and having a good time. A few older kids sat calmly at the table with a man, all finishing up their supper. And then there was Beatrice.

She stood by the window with a brown and white dog, gazing out into the snow-covered fields with an unreadable expression. Her hair was tied up in the same bun as before, and she wore now a costume like her mother's, except her arms were bare of any covering. She obviously was immune to the cold.

"Beatrice," Wirt murmured, standing still in the middle of the hall with a distant look in his eyes. Memories came flooding back, all the times they shared together bringing the boy a ray of saddened delight. He'd thought he would never see her again, but here she was. And so was he.

The girl turned her head in his direction, attuned to the regular mass of white noise, and locked eyes with him. An expression of surprise took her over for a brief second as Wirt took another step closer, the pain forgotten.

It was almost as if she was actually happy to see him. "Wirt!" she exclaimed, turning towards him fully as the dog ran up to one of her many sisters to fight for a toy.

"Beatrice! I'm so glad to see you! I —" the fragile teen began when he was suddenly smacked across the face. He raised his arm to shield from the possibility of another blow, when Beatrice stepped back, fuming. He was utterly confused at her sudden aggression.

"_What_ do you think you're doing here, Wirt?!" she snapped, her face a bright shade of red. "You're supposed to be going home! Didn't I tell you that?"

Wirt just stayed how he was, hurt inside and out. "I-I just thought . . ."

"I don't care what you think, Wirt! You just can't keep stalling and you know that!" Beatrice shot him down, her hands on her hips. "If you stay here too long you'll —"

"I'll what?" Wirt frowned, becoming angered himself. _I thought she'd be glad to see me, and this is what I get!_ _She just doesn't like me anymore, does she?_

The redhead drew in a stubborn breath, her fists clenched. She obviously decided it wasn't worth it and turned away from Wirt, growling, "It doesn't matter. You need to leave. _Now._"

The boy shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "I'm not going without Greg," he defied her, when Beatrice's mother passed by him to set the bowl of tomato soup on the table.

The woman then turned, scolding her tempered child, "Beatrice! I will not have you acting this way to your guest! Treat him kindly! He's unfit for travel and hadn't had a chance to eat for who know's how long!"

The girl crossed her arms, not showing her face to either of them. "Fine. But after dinner, he goes. And that's final." Without waiting for any repercussions, Beatrice stormed up the far staircase, ignoring her mother's cries.

The woman let out a snort of distaste. "Sometimes I wonder what I'm to do with her. Always the problem child."

Wirt didn't respond. He simply sat down at the table silently, receiving curious glances from the small children and uncomfortable smiles from the older group.

Dinner that day was tasteless and quiet.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh, Beatrice. -shakes head- Well, you wanted to see her, and now you have. Satisfied? What? No? ;3 Yeah, don't worry! The story's not over yet! There will be much in store for all my readers. Much in store indeed. <strong>

**Please leave a review! They help me stay in the mood to write! The more I have, the faster and better the next chapter will be! Magical, huh?**

**Oh, and if you're a guest and you leave a review I'll leave answers to your questions/comments in the review section somewhere with the username you choose, the chapter you replied to, and the date of posting. :) That way all my good readers won't feel ignored. (And it will get me more reviews! -grins- I rigged it!)**


	6. Chapter 6: Decisions and Choices Galore

**Chapter 6: Decisions and Choices Galore**

"Is the weird guy have to leave?" one of Beatrice's younger brothers asked curiously, standing near the table and pointing at Wirt. "'Cause Beatrice is mad and he gots slapped by her."

"Thomas, you know better than to point fingers at guests," Beatrice's mother admonished, just beginning to clear the table of dirty plates. She seemed to be the only one who actually wanted Wirt around, and even then it was just out of civic duty. Wirt sighed quietly, downcast. If he were alone, this would've been a great time for poetry.

"But he's _weird!_" little brown-haired Thomas cried out, increasing the intensity of his pointing. The five year-old even tugged on Wirt's cape a little. "And he's got weird blanket on him!"

"_Thomas!_" his mother reprimanded firmly, frowning. "Leave him alone and go to your room!"

"I _can't_, Ma," he protested. "Nancy locked me out earlier so she can play all lonely!" The boy crossed his arms, tearing up. "All lonely, Ma! _All lonely!_" Without waiting for a reaction, Thomas ran away in the direction of the first-floor hallway, bawling loudly.

Beatrice's mother's frown deepened. "There is no order in this household, sometimes."

Wirt didn't have anything to add. He was just . . . not feeling himself today. The woman took the plates to be washed in the kitchen, leaving the gnome-costumed boy sitting at the table. Even Beatrice's father had already left, obviously not wanting to associate with the unwanted teen. The children had gotten bored of him long ago.

_Beatrice, why do you want me to go?_ Wirt sulked, his vision cloudy. _What have I done to deserve this? Aren't we friends? Or is that all over now that you're human? _The distraught being pondered, feeling lost. Had Beatrice used him all along? Was she even concerned of his safety? All he knew was that she had some inexplainable need for him to leave the Unknown. _Perhaps she has something to hide that she doesn't want me to find out about. Or maybe she doesn't feel any need to have me around anymore. Maybe all those times she teased me were hints so I would get out of her life._ Perchance he simply misunderstood her actions and was reading too much into the situation. He didn't have any way to know.

"The world is a mysterious place," a female voice echoed behind him, too young to be Beatrice's. "If you try too hard to figure it out, you'll just ruin yourself."

Figuring that the statement was directed at him, Wirt turned around to see a girl with dark mahogany hair cut to the shoulders. She had a childish face of around twelve years of age and small freckles dotted her cheeks. He recognized her from dinner, although he never received her name.

Wirt searched for a good reply, but his mind was plagued with his unanswered questions, a whirlpool trapping him from the surface. In the end, all he could think to say was, "I know."

"Do you really?" the girl interrogated him, her eyes peering into his very soul. "If so, then why do you drown in your sorrows? Why do you dwell on the past? Can you tell me that?"

Wirt blinked, caught off-guard. She was awfully perceptive for someone so inexperienced.

The brunette gave him a knowing smile, dipping her head in acknowledgement. "I'd think not," she affirmed, pulling up a chair to sit beside Wirt. "But that doesn't mean you should give up. You have so much ahead of you in your life. Beatrice shouldn't be the one to decide that for you."

"You think I should stay?" he asked, wide-eyed. "I thought nobody wanted me here."

"Oh, they don't, but that doesn't mean it can't change. From what it seems, you've taken good care of your brother and his frog, so you've got to be someone we could look up to eventually," she explained matter-of-factly.

"Wait. You've seen Greg?" Wirt responded, completely taken by her advice. "Is he awake?"

"Oh, no he's not," she replied with a shake of her head. "I just overheard him in his sleep saying something about how much he loves you. It was adorable, really. He has a tiny voice."

The older brother chuckled softly, finding her comment to be amusing. _I'm glad Gregory is okay,_ Wirt smiled, his eyes distant. He felt suddenly inclined to continue on home for his brother, despite his injuries and the weather. Wirt promised that he would take Greg back to their familiar abode and that was just what he would do.

"Yeah, um, I can't stay here. At least, not long. Greg needs to go home and I don't think me being around will help anyone. I mean, anyone besides me. And Greg," the costumed teen explained, trying to stand with relative difficulty. It still hurt to move. A lot.

"You could at least stay until you're well again," she protested, standing from her seat abruptly. "There isn't much of a chance that you'll make it when you're this vulnerable."

Wirt studied the girl's face, contemplating the possibility. Was there really a chance that he could live here for a while? Or was she only trying to be polite? He decided on the former, not wanting his pessimistic nature to ruin the likelihood of receiving the favorable conditions him and his brother really needed.

"Mmm . . ." The brown-haired teen's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Maybe. Maybe I could, but you'll have to get Beatrice to agree to it. I don't want to be a burden if I don't have to."

The twelve year-old's eyes widened. "But I thought I told you that —"

"Beatrice has to agree to our staying here. It isn't good for either of us to be where we aren't wanted," he cut her off firmly, set on the decision. "Okay, uh . . ."

"Polly."

"Yeah," Wirt smiled with a nod, placing the name in his memory so he wouldn't forget. "Okay, Polly?"

"Alright then, . . ."

"Wirt."

Polly grinned as well, her eyes flashing with concession. "Alright, Wirt."

o-o-o-o

Wirt found himself alone in front of a gray wooden door, staring at it with an expression somewhere between doubtful and determined. His entire body hurt from walking up the steps unassisted, and he was still not completely sure of what he would say once he knocked.

_I'm not even sure this is the right door. _The teen frowned, considering the dreaded trek back down in favor of a confirmation by Polly or even Beatrice's mom. _But then I'll have to come all the way back up . . . _He cringed. It was better to take his chances with a wrong door.

Taking a deep breath to gather what was left of his courage, Wirt tapped his knuckles against the wood, producing a loud enough noise that anyone inside could hear.

"Uh, it's me: Wirt," he announced, waiting for a reaction.

It was silent for a moment, then, "I told you to leave." Beatrice.

Wirt nearly sighed in relief, but thought to keep himself at the task at hand. "Yeah, well, I talked to your sister and she said it would be best if I stayed for a while. I think so too."

"Who told you that? Was it Amanda? It was Amanda, wasn't it?" her voice sounded agitated from Wirt's side of the hall.

"Amanda?" he questioned, not knowing which of her four sisters she was talking about. "No, Polly told me after dinner. She was pretty convinced of it, too."

"_Polly?!_" Beatrice cried out loudly, "That's _worse!_" There was a hard thump from her side of the door, followed by a series of 'ow's.

_She probably kicked the wall or something, _he observed, glad that there was a barrier between them for the first time since the conversation began. _I wonder what makes her so rough and rowdy. She has sisters, after all._ It was one of the mysteries of the world. Most likely one of which that Polly advised him not to dwell on. So like the obedient little pushover he was, Wirt threw the thought aside, attempting once again not to get distracted.

"Y-you okay?" Wirt asked awkwardly, confused.

"No way am I okay! Polly's been filling your head with her nonsense! That girl is a manipulator and self-centered daydreamer! She's just trying to make everything worse!" came the angered reply.

Wirt took a step back in shock. "Polly's just trying to help, Beatrice. Plus, she's your sister. You should care about her."

"Polly's not trying to help you or Gregory, Wirt!" the former bluebird growled. "The only one who has been helping you is me!"

_What?_ The teen paused, the words sounding like a lie. All Beatrice did was bat him away, shoo him like he was an annoying fly buzzing around her ears. Now she was claiming to have helped him?

"No, Beatrice. You haven't been helping me at all." he murmured, his eyes dark, plastered on the hard surface in front of him as if it were her standing there instead. "You keep telling me these things, but you never _explain._ You tell me that Adelaide is going to help us get home, but you never told me who she was. You say you were human, but you wait until our last moments before you did. You took us out of our way to go on some quest to our impending doom without letting us have a choice. So if anyone is the self-centered manipulator, it's you."

Beatrice let out a choked whimper, "You don't understand, Wirt. You never understand until it's too late."

Wirt felt as if his insides were being crushed, guilt playing its way into his tough comeback. But he wouldn't back down.

"I can't take Greg home until I'm well, Beatrice."

It was the straw that broke the bluebird's back. "Fine, Wirt," she answered, her voice soft and broken. "You can have your way. Just leave me alone and go to your room."

He did.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh wow, don't I just love happy endings? XD Hope y'all enjoyed. Please leave a review for me to read! This could have been written much quicker if I'd had reviews to keep me going. But alas . . . I had none. Change that for me? :3<strong>


	7. Chapter 7: Foreboding is the Night

**Chapter 7: Foreboding is the Night**

_"Come wayward souls,_

_who wander through the darkness;_

_there is a light for the lost and the meek._

_Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten_

_when you submit to the soil of the earth."_

That dreaded song echoed through the Unknown, swirling around the deep shadows with an eerie air. A well-aged man stood within the darkness, his black trench coat the only means to keep out the blistering nighttime wind from freezing him solid. The Woodsman was once again staring solemnly into his iron-cast lantern, doing his best to ignore the morbid singing.

"Oh beloved daughter," he sighed, his brown eyes reflecting its warm glow. "If only there were a way. If only there were a way . . ."

The man frowned, becoming lost himself in his hopes and dreams. They were but empty wishes, sorrowful memories and a life of regret. The only thing that he could remember doing right was helping his child live on in the fire of continuation that was his work and pain. It might've made him feel better if he could see her — like she was before — just once more, but all he had left of his little girl was the lantern. All he had was light.

"_Woodsman . . ._" whistled the leaf-bare trees, a whisper of the shaded: quiet, subtle, alone. "_Woodsman . . ._"

The anguished father glanced up at the barren treetops, more afraid than he was alarmed. This was not new. The weightless hush spoke often, sometimes muttering his name and other times telling him of his duties. But always in a manner that poked at his sanity and played with his beliefs.

"What do you want with me, Beast? Can't you see that this isn't the time? Can't you leave a man to his grief?" the Woodsman cried out, shielding the lantern with his arms although the voice could put it out with but a word.

"_Woodsman . . ._" it shushed, dead leaves wafting into the air. "_The lantern . . . it wanes . . ._"

The old man took a cautionary look at the item in his hands. He found that the voice was right, familiar with the dying colors of the flame. It needed oil. Edlewood oil.

Without a word, the Woodsman picked up his axe from where he had left it on the ground, walking deeper in the forest in search of the tree. Edlewood had become harder to find in the Unknown due to the lantern's needs, but they weren't completely extinct. It only took twenty-four hours for a lost soul to change into one, after all. There would be more in time.

He came upon an Edlewood tree after a while of walking, its large figure blocking the moonlight from spilling out onto the forest floor. Its human face was contorted in an expression of terror and black oil seeped from the bark, a promising sign of happiness for one and misery for another.

The Woodsman grimaced, the tree seeming to give him a glare from within its trunk that paralyzed and incapacitated him. This was the first Edlewood he would be forced to cut down since since he'd learnt of their true origins. It was the knowledge that kept him still, kept him from removing the roots of nourishment and adding it to his own daughter's supply. Wouldn't that be wrong? Was it really worth it?

"_Woodsman . . ._" The voice again beckoned his attention, its tone nothing short of threatening. "_The lantern . . . it wanes . . . needs Edlewood . . ._"

The wary man took the warning, knowing that if he waited any longer it'd be too late. Moving forward with little hesitance, the Woodsman raised his axe up to the Edlewood's trunk, ready to strike. With one last murmur of apology to the trapped soul, the Woodsman forcefully connected metal to wood, the Edlewood unable to fight back. His blows were precise with all the skill of a practiced lumberjack and the tree came crashing down in a short while. Branches and small red leaves scattered about the dirt, some of his precious oil wasted as well. Even the tree's carved face appeared devastated, all of its luster gone in a second.

"How can I keep doing this?" he lamented, picking a log from the debris to cradle mournfully in his arms. "These lives . . . How could I take these lives?" The Woodsman felt his eyes become watery at the mention.

"_Woodsman . . ._" whistled the winter breeze again, cold in body and mind. "_The lantern . . . it wanes . . . The light . . . will be no more . . ._"

The Woodsman let out a trembling sigh, releasing his grip on the branches. There wasn't any choice. He had to have more oil. _She_ had to have more oil. So he labored away, set on his task and dutiful in heart. There was nothing else. Nothing else . . .

o-o-o-o

The moon was already high in the sky by the time the Woodsman had enough pieces for use, the burden heavier than it used to be. Not only did he have to find a way to grind the Edlewood into oil without the use of the mill, he'd have to find a way to do it without letting his daughter's flame flicker out.

When Beatrice's family returned and found him at the old grist mill, the Woodsman allowed them to have their house back without a fight. It wasn't his and he felt the need to do something good for others in payment for all the pain he'd caused the world. Much was taken but not enough was received.

Self-loathing conflicted with love, passion with regret. But even that wasn't enough to drive away the shadows that swarmed his dark landscape. He was truly alone.

"Daughter, I hope you're happy. I hope you are well. I hope you don't feel as I, that you don't forget yourself in this unknown world. Because — if you do — there will be a light. There will be hope." The Woodsman stood in silence for a moment, staring down at the lantern with lonely eyes. He reminded himself that this was the way the river flowed, that there was still a chance at peace in life. It was what allowed him to drain the oil by hand into the lantern's base, his axe cutting away the excess wood in the process. Black, thick liquid oozed from the Edlewood, such a deep color of blankness. Of forlornness. Of nothing.

Of course then was the perfect time for a voice to sing, the perfect time to taunt a man in his sorrow. The wind picked up speed, the swirling mass of malevolence and greed heavy in the air as the ominous melody rang out into the night.

_"Chop the wood to light the fire. _

_Grind them and it'll not be dire. _

_A simple vial of oil so small, _

_hardly worth the effort at all. _

_But 'keep me lit' the lantern sings,_

'_do so and certainty it brings'. _

_A life preserved within a shell,_

_always here to always dwell."_

* * *

><p><strong>That was darker than my usual variety. But I hope you all enjoyed! Make sure to leave a review! :)<strong>

**(Oh, and I couldn't exactly tell what the Beast sang in the show for the ending song, so I made up the lyrics past the first line. What do you all think? :3 )**

**And a somewhat non-related question for all of you amazing people who are reading my stories:**

**How many of you would be interested in another OtGW fanfic on the Beast's origin? :3 I have some very creative theories and wonder how you'd all like a tragic, angst-filled romance between him and a very interesting character that explains nearly every early plot-hole in the show. I'd also include his relationship with the Woodsman and how the lantern came to be for those of you who are wondering and perhaps a tiny hint of Infinite Eyerolls in the beginning. I'll either start this once I have - hmm . . . say, 25 favorites on my main story and at least 30 follows. So if this new idea is any amount of interesting to you - and I promise it will be once I've started it - then please do your best to get people on FanFiction to read my stories. If I do not get the favorites and followers, I'll simply finish this fanfic before I start a new one. But that may be a very, very long wait. -smirks slyly- Your choice. (Self advertising! xD It's annoying AND tempting!)**


	8. Chapter 8: Call It Weird

**Chapter 8: Call It Weird**

"See?" tiny troublemaking Tom clarified, standing at the doorway of Greg's room with a surrounding cluster of the younger portion of Beatrice's family. "I _told_ you the weird guy is weird. That's why he wear weird blanket and big red carrot hat."

"And his brother's got a kettle on his head," a male of around seven with deep brown hair mused, standing tall above the others. "That's a little weird."

"No, Victor," a small girl with amber braids frowned, pushing her brother aside to take a peek at Gregory. "It's not weird! _You're_ weird! I _like_ kettles!"

"Not on people, you don't. It's not something we wear," Victor responded factually to the six year-old, making a face. "And it looks strange."

"Does _not!_" his sister rebuked, puffing up her cheeks and crossing her arms.

"Yes, it does, Nancy! Do I have to prove it to you?" he frowned, about to march straight into the room and put the teapot on himself.

Victor's twin brother blocked him from entering, though, his peach limbs acting as a shield. "Hold it, Vic! Ma told us not to bother our guests or she'll have us punished. Do you _really_ want to take that chance to prove a point? We'll be doing extra chores for months!"

Victor grunted, but backed down. _No one_ liked doing extra chores as a punishment. Those fit for misbehaving children were usually the worst out of the pile. "Fine, Joseph. I won't take the kettle."

"Sure?" the boy asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Yeah, whatever." came the non-committed reply.

Joseph stepped out of the way despite his brother's lack of enthusiasm, freeing the doorway as a window once again. Beatrice's present siblings all pushed forward to stare at Wirt and Greg again, the blockade of tall brothers no longer an issue.

The bedroom was small and held only a single twin-sized bed and a small wooden table accessorized with a couple of kiddie chairs. The tea-kettled boy — Gregory — laid in the bed, his face pale and small rings under his closed lids. Beside him sat his older brother Wirt, who was bent over in his seat, fast asleep. Likewise, it was morning, and the amature poet had obviously dozed off while visiting his brother late last night.

Nancy giggled. "Weird Guy snores like Daddy." Her comment produced a chorus of laughter from the group.

"I-I can't believe Big Sis talked about Weird Guy so much in the before," Thomas cracked up, his voice muffled by his chortles. "He's too _weird_ for being a talk-about." Cackling mirth soon followed, filling the hall with muffled tittering.

Sadly enough, their brief escapade rapidly came to a close when Beatrice found them all blocking the doorway, a displeased frown on her face. Thomas immediately excused himself, taking off in the opposite direction in apparent fear, knowing all too well that the look she was giving them meant trouble. Everyone else was rooted to the spot.

"What were you talking about just now?" she started in a penetrating voice, her eyes following Tom as he bolted away on his little five-year-old legs. The redhead didn't pursue her youngest brother, too occupied with her group of snoopers. She'd get him for it later.

Nancy — being the smallest and most naive — perked up, attempting to slide them by any consequences from her eldest. "We were trying to see how funny Weird Guy and Teapot Hat were, so they told us a funny. I mean, joke. They told us a joke."

Beatrice frowned, "You expect me to believe that two sleeping boys told you a joke?"

"Uh, yes." Victor attempted, faking a laugh and hitting his twin in the side with his elbow. Joseph began to chuckle nervously on instinct, allowing him to become an accomplice to Victor's lying.

She didn't buy it, though. "You expect me to believe that _Wirt_ made you laugh?"

Victor nodded, wiping his already clammy hands on his pants, "T-the joke was really funny, right guys?"

"Especially," Nancy agreed, her eyes wide. "_Absolutely._"

Joseph only continued to laugh in the background.

Their oldest sister sent them a menacing glare. "Whatever. I'm in a hurry, so just be quiet and stop blocking the hall."

"You mean, we're still alive?" Victor asked, astonished.

"Stay there any longer and I'll change my mind about that," Beatrice warned, Nancy and Joseph already scooting away.

That was all it took to clear the area, her brothers and sister out of sight. The fifteen year-old sighed, although relief wasn't the cause. Not wanting to stand uselessly in the doorway, Beatrice entered the room, not surprised to see Wirt there after her siblings made that show of evading her impending wrath. She let out a breath of relief, thankful that the ruckus hadn't woke either of them. Or so she thought.

Wirt's eyes suddenly flickered under his illusion of being asleep, opening them knowingly to stare at Beatrice. He had been awake the entire time she was there, listening to the conversations outside Greg's door to gather information about the family without having to ask. Obviously, a group of small children wouldn't provide for much, but at least he was aware of how they saw him.

"Am I really a weird guy, Beatrice?" Wirt asked calmly, surprising her.

"Er, yes, sort of," the girl answered, caught off guard. She assumed he was just about to say something more meaningful after their recent quarrel, so his question seemed out of the ordinary.

"Hm," the teen mumbled distantly. "Okay."

Beatrice frowned, not sure what to say at seeing Wirt in that state. She hadn't meant to make him feel bad when she'd said all those things, but she wasn't exactly happy with him, either.

Wirt broke their gaze, his attention already lost to his brother. From how Wirt was acting, Beatrice couldn't tell what was going through his head at that moment, but whatever it was, it brought a strange discomfort coursing through her body. It wouldn't help to dwell on it, though, so she'd best be off saying what she had meant to have said the second she came in.

"Wirt, there's something I need to tell you," Beatrice began, although her tone suggested that it wasn't going to be an apology. Wirt opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "And it has nothing to do with you leaving right now, so I suggest you listen."

The costumed male glanced back at her, giving her a peculiar look. He didn't offer up anything else besides that, quiet and listening.

Beatrice did not bother to smile. "I was afraid I'd have to tell you this, Wirt, but I guess there isn't much choice anymore. I know you haven't forgotten what we've been through together, which means you also haven't forgotten about the Beast. That day when you bested him we both thought that we would not have to worry about the Beast anymore. We thought that everything would be fine once we set Greg free. Well, I'm sorry to say that I don't know what happened after we said our goodbyes, but I _do_ know that saving your brother hasn't helped solve anything around here. The forest is still dark and somber, and sometimes, if I really listen late in the night, I think I can hear faint fragments of his song echoing through the trees. For all I know, the Beast could still be out there, haunting the woods, trying to find you and seek revenge for nearly blowing out the lantern. If the Beast is still in the Unknown — and I'm sure he is — he won't have any trouble taking from you what he tried to before."

"Greg. You think he'll try and take Greg," Wirt deducted, appearing afraid. "That's why you wanted me to go home so urgently. You thought that if we waited to long, he'd find us again."

"Well, that's one of the reasons," Beatrice sighed, watching him as he absentmindedly picked at the large scab on his right palm. Wirt never told her how he got that, or the one on his face. But this wasn't the time.

"_One_ of the reasons?" the brown-haired boy asked, tilting his head. "There are more?"

"Of course there are more!" the former bluebird retorted, flinging her arms out wide. "What did you think, Wirt — that I decided that I didn't want to have to see your face around after you _finally_ left? That's just ridiculous!"

Wirt put on a sheepish grin. "Y-yeah. Yeah. That's definitely not . . . definitely not what I was thinking. Definitely."

"Wow, Wirt," Beatrice remarked, her expression either amused or annoyed. "You're terrible at lying _and_ having faith in your friends. I'll be sure to nominate you for being the best tactful peacemaker in all of history. You'll make the title for certain if you keep that up."

Wirt frowned softly, slightly irritated by her face-rubbing, but he soon moved away from it. "So, that means you don't hate me, right?"

"Yes, Wirt. I don't hate you," she clarified, her mouth quirking into a smirk. "But that doesn't mean you're not weird."

"Thanks for raising my spirits, Beatrice," the gnome-dressed boy replied flatly, although he had a large smile on his face. "I really appreciate it."

"Anytime, friend. Anytime."

* * *

><p><strong>This was sort of a cute little cooldown chapter. :3 I've been begged by so many people to keep Beatrice active in the story, so I decided the best way to do that would be to resolve her "problems" with Wirt. This way I can put in all of that wonderful fluff I've been waiting to add ever since the fanfic took on a more somber tone. I do want to say that even though I received only one review since I posted the last chapter, I'm thankful for everyone who's reading my stories, whether you comment or not. So just enjoy these works of mine, I suppose. But if you'd like, a few seconds of your time is all it takes to give me a world of support. c: (Also, I really want to know what you all think and what I can do to improve. ;3 )<strong>


	9. Chapter 9: Frozen Harmony

**Chapter 9: Frozen Harmony**

The front door opened to the teen, revealing an icy world he would have thought to be beautiful, if it hadn't been for the events in the snow days before. Barren treetops were covered in fresh flakes, their lonely branches harboring rows upon rows of crystallized icicles. A stream flowed slowly through the small clearing, its path broken by large chunks of frozen water. All and all, the entire picture bore a strong resemblance to the middle of winter, down to the cold air that whipped its way into Beatrice's house and across the frosty scene ahead.

"I was sure that I felt spring coming soon," Wirt muttered, stepping out into the mill-house's front porch and tightening his cape around himself to act as — well — a blanket. "I guess that was weird of me to think that winter could be over so quickly. It had only lasted a few days, after all."

Beatrice stood beside him after she closed the door to her house, not even a goosebump on her revealed arms. The poorly-dressed girl glanced over into the forest with calm indifference, taking in the view in silence.

Wirt watched her contentedly, taking in her expression as a silent answer to his questions. For a while there was nothing but a blankness on her face as she observed the brittle land, from the slick rocks to the smothered grass. As if some invisible force had been tugging at her hope, her mouth slowly dipped into a frown, her unease shining like a beacon on a night of a full-moon.

_I'm guessing this isn't normal? _Wirt blinked, the chill of the outside world already seeping through his cape and penetrating the warmth of his body. He huddled into a smaller ball, hunched over slightly to keep his heat concentrated. The memory of his fateful fall into the blistering snow left a mark on the teen and the very mention of the cold sent shivers up his spine. _Why must it be so cold? So . . . so c-cold . . ._

"Wirt. _Wirt,_" Beatrice called, concern edging her features as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, if we need to go back inside, we can. You're the same awesome weirdo whether you can handle being outside or not."

Wirt shuddered, attempting to smile through the building fog that swirled from them after each breath. "I-I'm fine, Beatrice. At least I'm not that sore anymore compared to yesterday. Besides, I need to be out here anyway because I'll have to start traveling again soon. It would be best if —" Wirt's sentence came to a sudden halt; the gnome-dressed boy found himself in a fit of hacking coughs, the dry, polar air sucking the moisture from his lungs like a sponge dipped in water. His nose was a bright shade of pink, his cheeks flushed and his skin pale. It almost appeared as if he'd come down with a cold.

"Oh no, I knew it," Beatrice frowned as his cough subsided. "Wirt, we're going back in the house. Right now." Not giving him any chance to fully recover, the former bluebird grabbed ahold of one of his skinny arms and tugged him forcefully back the way they'd came, not bothering to be gentle in the action.

Wirt hissed when her pull upset the lingering tenderness in his muscles, but before he could say anything they were already inside, the front door shut securely behind them.

"Hey! Ow," the fifteen year-old grimaced, clutching his arm that had just been released from her merciless talons. "You could've at least been easier with me, you know. That hurt."

"You were having a seizure out there, Wirt," she replied bluntly, shaking her head. "You can't expect me to just stand there and wait until you're ready to be let in. And there's no point in pulling you if I'm going to do it softly. You might as well walk on your own."

_Ah, Beatrice. Stubborn as usual, _Wirt remarked to himself, sighing. _I guess there isn't any point in arguing with her. That never turns out well._

"Yeah, you're right," he gave in, already feeling heat trickling into him. "I feel better now anyway."

"You'd better," Beatrice countered. "I don't know what I'd do if you got sick. That would probably stick you in the Unknown for much longer than would be safe."

_Maybe, but at least I would have more time to spend here, where I'm cared about. _Wirt huffed quietly, the comeback he had planned on expressing stuck in his throat. He couldn't say something so half-hearted to her, especially since she would most likely try and dissuade him of his comment's correctness. Wirt already had enough trouble as it was. _I think I should change the topic. Beatrice might even forget about me leaving and all . . ._ The thought brought a smile to his face.

"So, um," Wirt attempted, clearing his throat briefly before continuing. "You uh . . . You see anything interesting out there? In the . . . In the snow?"

The lightly-dressed redhead glared at him for a moment, her eyes suspicious. The boy chuckled nervously. There was no hiding anything from her. Even a thought.

But luckily, despite her scepticism, she allowed Wirt to slip by the potential of an altercation and answered his question with as much honesty as she could muster, "No, Wirt. I didn't see anything. Nothing besides snow and ice."

_Nothing at all . . ._ The fake gnome pondered her statement thoroughly, feeling as though some element were missing. _Really? Hmm. I don't see the need for her to be so forlorn unless there's a reason. This is Beatrice. She_ always _has a reason._ Wirt sighed, a solution to his problem seeming just out of reach.

"Can I ask you something?"

Wirt snapped out of his intellectual daze, nodding.

The girl took a second to begin, but her query was firm. "Have you heard of such a thing as an everlasting winter from where you're from?"

"An . . . everlasting winter?" he repeated, confounded by the prospect. "Never heard of it." _An everlasting winter . . . _The idea of one existing frightened him. How would he ever be able to go outside again? Would he be stuck for the rest of his life in Beatrice's homestead, never again to see the sunny sky or feel the tranquility of a mid-summer's breeze? _Impossible._

"Huh," she remarked, casting a quick glance out the window. "Well, here in the Unknown we've listened to a certain story that's passed down through the family and told to everyone who isn't deaf. I've always thought that it was just a legend, a myth, but now I'm starting to wonder. But I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. Especially since the tale is so common here. Maybe it just applies to the Unknown. Or maybe I'm just being a worrywort."

"I'm still not sure what you're talking about. What's the story?" he requested, curiosity and seriousness waging a war on his face. "Could you or someone else tell me?"

"I'd normally have my mom do it, but since it's sort of long, I'll just give you the short version," Beatrice explained. "Once long ago in the Unknown there lived a king and a queen. They wanted the best for the citizens of the forest, although in different ways. The queen offered peace and harmony, but the king disagreed with her actions once the people began to become naive and weak. He argued that they needed someone to show them how to be strong and fearless, but the queen ignored his pleas. The king decided to do something about it anyway and hired a pair of enchantresses — sisters, tasking them on creating a magical being so great that it would strike fear in the hearts of his subjects and drive them into vigilance and courageousness. The two sisters became known as the Witches of the Unknown, named purely off of their secretive nature. They tested their dark magic on animals of every sort, but the animals of the forest were all somehow resistant. All except the black turtles, although they had little knowledge of their transformation. Believing that they weren't affected, the Witches of the Unknown brought the turtles along with the other unresponsive animals to the king and queen's palace as some of the creatures were tainted with scars or ailments that could be harmful if let free. The king thanked them as usual and the sisters left the palace to continue the search for their monster. Little did they know, the king planned on eating the animals that were given to him by the witches so that they would not suffer and their nourishment would not be wasted to the earth. The queen and king were having their meal of mixed meats, when the black turtle from before was served on a plate before the king. Not knowing what he risked, the king ate it in a single bite, which was unruly for someone of great status, and became to transform in front of the queen's very eyes. He became a form of darkness, a symbol of greed and evil, and left her to rule the kingdom alone, intent on escaping into the forest. Once done, the Unknown began to grow cold and unwelcoming. Villages suffered. Crops failed. And all the queen could do was wait in her palace, alone and unable to do anything. The king had his beast, but that was what he became. The Beast of the Unknown. One of the two witches rejoiced in her success and decided to follow the Beast, whereas the other saw her wrongs and wished to grant help to the queen, feeling that her rule was the one most worthy of such a grand land. Stuff happened, la la la, and eventually the queen was allowed the power to undo the former king's actions with her own, one at a time with the help of a soul and the feelings of happiness. She found a way to bring back the summer of the Unknown, but the Beast retaliated with his own cold flurry. Therefore winter and summer fought to keep their grasp on the forest, resulting in an autumn and spring of nearly everlasting length. They say that the queen and king still fight today, and the seasons are always at risk of breaking and delving us into a winter that lasts forever."

"Wow," Wirt breathed, astonished. "That's kinda . . . Woah." The story was still long, but it was immensely interesting.

Beatrice nodded. "I'm afraid that's just what happened. Winter and summer never last long. Sometimes, it's but a day. This is new. This is a reminder."

"What do we do? Do you think the queen's finally broken?" he gasped, all of it clicking in his head. "Is the winter going to last forever this time?"

"I don't know, Wirt," she replied softly, her eyes distant. "I really don't know."

* * *

><p><strong>I've really thought out that story for a while. I plan on taking Beatrice's version of it and expanding into a more detailed fic. I just thought a preview would be nice. :) Tell me what you think and leave a review!<strong>


	10. Chapter 10: Past Twists and Turmoil

**Chapter 10: Past Twists and Turmoil**

When Wirt arrived back at Greg's room later that day he found Jason Funderburker curled up next to his younger brother, fast asleep. The sight of them resting with such tranquility brought a sad smile to the older boy's lips, knowing just how much was in his hands. Not only did he risk himself by staying, Gregory and his precious frog's well-being were at stake as well.

The teen sighed as he stepped closer to them. _Fate can be so unfair sometimes._ _But no one can change their fate, can they?_ Wirt left the question unanswered, although it gave him a spark of hope. Only a spark.

The gnome-dressed boy was now standing directly at Greg's bedside, the chair he had sat in earlier unconsciously forgotten. His brother's plump form appeared so small and fragile under the bedsheets, like a newborn bunny trying to crawl to his mother's side. It was as if every movement Wirt made could send Greg permanently into the depths of his mind's world, wherever that may be.

_I hope he's happy, if he's still in there. At least Greg doesn't have to feel a millennium's worth of apprehension for what could happen or have the strain of those who worry about a future of darkness and being choked by the brambles of despair,_ Wirt mused solemnly, downcast. _I suppose this is why the Woodsman kept the lantern lit for so long, thinking that it could save his daughter. I now understand his pain; it has become mine._

"Dearest brother," Wirt began softly, melancholy weighing his words down, "if you can hear me, I want you to know that the world is not only covered in snow. There are friends who care where we go and nevertheless the wind will blow. I feel lost and awful slow but still hope you have no woe. Your songs have filled my heart long ago, now I wonder if it's all a show. To you I've come to say 'hello', to you the sun gives its golden glow. Please hear me out as I bestow, to you, Greg, and it can never overflow."

The gnome-dressed boy stifled a sob, his vision blurred by unshed tears. _I wrote that for you, Greg. I even made it rhyme. Won't you just wake up for me now? Can't you spread your sunshine into my life once more?_ Wirt clenched his fists by his side, enduring the torture that his compassion had brought down upon him. _There will be nothing except the cold from now on. There is no one else for me to turn to when I need warmth. No one I can stay with, no one who can help me. I wish it could be different. I wish the Unknown was safe. I wish I could get Beatrice to come with us when we go home. I wish this whole mess weren't my fault._

The older boy lost himself to his sorrows, the ripping agony of his regret tearing into his soul. Liquid misery poured from his eyes in large amounts, his barrier of willpower unable to suppress its force. The heartache was unbearable. The shock. The suffering. The distress. His tribulation could not be eased by any amount of sympathizing, as one might find if they tried to walk in on his moment, for he was engulfed too deeply in his inner grief. In his eyes everything was at a standstill apart from his own thoughts and the light breathing of his brother.

"G-greg . . . Greg . . ." Wirt sobbed, letting the tears trickle down his face. "G-greg . . . I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . ." He was trembling madly, his muscles weak from the stress and pain. Soon he found himself leaning on Greg's bed, his weeping head propped up by his elbows, face buried in his hands. "I'm so sorry . . ."

o-o-o-o

"Wirt. Get up, Wirt," Beatrice's voice echoed above him and Wirt distantly felt a hand shove him lightly in the back. "Stop sulking and stand up, you big pushover!"

The brown-haired teen lifted his head slowly, looking up at her with swollen eyes. He had cried until his tears had run out and his hyperventilating prevented him from getting the oxygen he needed to breathe. For the longest time he had bent down on Greg's bed and moped silently, the comfort of his brother's presence his only meaning of existence. Then Beatrice came and disturbed his brooding mood, alerting him of his surroundings once more.

"Stand up, Wirt."

It took another push for him to gather enough energy to move, but Wirt managed to stand on shaky legs. Everything felt empty inside. All feeling had drained out of him as his tears did; his mind was now blank and thoughtless save for a thick and heavy emotion that encompassed every sound and sight.

Beatrice frowned, her gaze searching his. He simply stared back without uttering a word, finding the need to wipe his face with his sleeve although the wetness was long-gone, dried up like the rest of his happiness.

"Are you alright now, Wirt?" she asked more softly, kindness peeking past her regularly rude demeanor. "You okay?"

Am _I okay?_ Wirt questioned himself. _Or am I only a burden? A useless, incapable hinderance that carries with it the heaviness of discomfort? Is there nothing more I can do for others, nothing more that I can do for myself? Am I but a leaf floating in the autumn winds, destined to be taken where the land desires? Can I not have a choice in life? Can I not fulfil my own promise to help those who deserve it? Because without that privilege, I am no one. I am nothing._

If there were any tears left in the boy, he would cry, but Wirt's previous scene deprived him of such a grandeur opportunity. Instead, he was left whimpering in front of the young lady, the cracked sound lacking volume. No, he was definitely _not_ okay, and it didn't take much for Beatrice to see it.

Without a word of consolation or even a murmuring of pity, Wirt was taken up into his friend's arms and pulled into an embrace full of compassion and warmth. There wasn't time for the fifteen year-old boy to feel surprise or embarrassment, for his disquietness had already begun to fade in the serenity of it all. He begun to feel appreciated again; he felt the firm hold of cherishment caress him once more. The enormity of his sentiment was worth a flow of tears in itself.

As if the moment of relief would end at any second, Wirt returned the hug, biting back the sorrows that for some reason made a move to return. He tightened his grip around her and soon it all faded away, until there was but a silence in the room.

It gave him a chance to think.

_Wait . . . _Wirt realized with wide eyes, stiffening suddenly. _Am I actually —_

"Hey. You can get off of me, you know." Beatrice interrupted his reflection and the mortified teen jumped away abruptly, releasing his hold on her.

Wirt's face was bright red as he fought to recapture his dignity, "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to . . . uh . . . it's not that . . ."

The former bluebird smirked lightly, finding amusement in how flustered he was. "It doesn't matter, Wirt," she told him, causing the male to stop stammering. "I got you back to normal, didn't I?"

"Well, I guess," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. _Wow. I can't believe I seriously did that . . . Great job, Wirt. That was amazing. She's probably going to think I'm a weirdo for the rest of her life._

Beatrice nonchalantly rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."

"Hey! What is that supposed to mean?" he huffed, just now noticing the green amphibian staring at them intelligently from on top of Greg's bed. _Jason probably saw the entire thing . . ._ Wirt realized with a blush. _Well. Not much to do about a frog, is there?_

"Whatever, Wirt," the red-haired girl answered, playfully punching his arm. "Just come on and stop sulking in here. Greg will wake up when he's ready."

The brown-haired teen gave in with a sigh. "You're right, Beatrice. I suppose it wouldn't do much good if I spent all of my time waiting, anyway."

"Now you get it," she praised, hitting him hard in the same spot. "Just remember that and you'll never waste time again."

The gnome-dressed male involuntarily flinched at her attack, letting out a cry of protest. "Beatrice! Could you _please_ stop clubbing me?" Wirt yelped, taking a few steps away from her. "Please? I have soft arms."

"'Soft arms', huh?" his friend snickered, watching Wirt's face turn a bright shade of red — for probably the thousandth time that evening. "Yeah, sure. I'll stop for now if you'll come to dinner. You already missed lunch."

"D-dinner? How long was I here?"

"Long enough," she shrugged. "Are you coming or not? I think we're having potatoes again."

"I'm coming." With one last glance at his sleeping brother, the boy headed out to his meal with Beatrice and her family, a thoughtful expression on his face.

He decided that if the endless winter did come and stick them indoors he wouldn't have any problem with it. Because with that came an opportunity that wasn't there before. With it came a newfound sense of pride and hope.

_And all I need now is Greg . . ._ Wirt smirked, following Beatrice down the hall. _Let the storm rage on . . ._

* * *

><p><strong>x3 Heh. Small hints at Infinite Eyerolls here. This is not going to be a focus in the fanfic, I'm only adding it for a side-drama type thing. (Plus I think it's cute . . . ;3 )<strong>

**Well, anyway, I think you got the Frozen reference, although I'm not making any action on doing a crossover. I just thought it would enhance the story, and plus, the main thing right now is the worry of an eternal winter. -cough- Get it? -cough- xD**

**Thanks to all of you who've read or reviewed my story! I really love every one of you for doing so! Make sure to tell me how you enjoyed it! ;) (And your hopes, if you're willing to share . . .) 'Til next time!**


	11. Chapter 11: Potatoes Without Molasses

**Chapter 11: Potatoes Without Molasses**

"Thanks again for letting me stay here, ma'am," Wirt smiled softly, his eyes scanning the rest of Beatrice's family. Everyone seemed much happier after him and Beatrice made up. Even the dog was content, curled up peacefully near the crackling fire, dark orbs set comfortably upon the group.

"Oh, it's a pleasure to have you, dear," the woman replied, setting a bowl of creamy butter on the table. "Does anyone want any butter for their potatoes?"

"Ooh! Me! I want some!" a chubby, mahogany-haired boy of around nine answered, arms already stretched out to receive the topping. He took it gratefully from his mother, immediately scooping a generous amount and plopping it onto his plate.

"Hey! Lawrence," an older male piped up from the opposite side, his voice smooth with a tone in the mid-ranges. "Save some for the rest of us, will ya'? We want butter, too."

"I _am_ saving you some," he retorted, giving himself another heaping portion of the yellow goodness. "After I get mine."

"No, Caleb's right," a girl slightly smaller than Beatrice frowned, causing her twin brother's eyes to widen. Wirt guessed that she didn't usually side with Caleb on normal occasions. "There's not going to be any left for us if you take it all."

Lawrence sighed, putting the bowl back on the table. Nearly half of it was gone. "Fine, Amanda. It's not like I want any more, anyway."

The girl grunted in annoyance, but didn't say anything under her mother's forceful glare. Butter wasn't worth punishment, no matter how great it tasted.

"The potatoes are decent as they are," Wirt offered weakly, trying his best to act sure of himself. "We should . . . just eat them . . . by themselves . . ."

Beatrice, who was sitting beside him, chuckled to herself at Wirt's attempt at peace. Most of the other children laughed as well, although a boy roughly older than Greg let loose a flurry of thoughtless giggles. Even the parents had a small smile on their aging faces.

_What is it? Am I missing something?_ The gnome-dressed teen frowned, an embarrassed blush creeping onto his faded cheeks. _Is it my voice? Oh, wow, I really hope it isn't my voice._ He'd been laughed at at school for that before, and it definitely didn't help to improve his ego.

It was a while before most everyone regained their composure, except for the nameless boy from earlier, who was pounding his fist against the table, crying from pure amusement. Even he had to stop sometime and after a while of awkwardness, the room was finally as silent as it would get, save for the content whisperings of the outside wind and the fireplace's warming sound.

_I-is someone gonna explain this to me?_ Wirt blinked, feeling tiny in his chair. _Anyone?_

Polly eventually said something, although there was still a heavy trace of her previous entertainment in her voice, "Wirt, these potatoes are undoubtedly bland and sometimes taste like soil without anything to cover them up. We grow our own in the summer, so they're some of the only things to eat during winter. Even if you like unseasoned and boiled vegetables, you'd get sick and tired of them after a while. Butter is quite the delicacy with that sort of a meal."

_It was an inside-joke. Thank goodness,_ the mortified teen observed, relieved beyond measure.

"That's why we call it dirt, sweetie," the group's mother told him. "Now, I'll go get more butter. Children, please behave at the table. And Lawrence, don't use so much of it next time."

"Yes, mom." The boy dipped his head, beginning to eat. His father gave him a reassuring pat on the back, which put a smile on Lawrence's face once more.

By the time Beatrice's mother had gone, a calm came over the family and their guest. They began to talk more freely, each kid having their own conversation with another, their father interjecting a comment now and then. It made Wirt grin. _This_ was how a family needed to act around each other, comfortable and happy to be in the presence of their parents, brothers and sisters.

"So," Wirt began, testing the contents of his plate with the tip of his fork, "you never actually introduced me to your family, Beatrice." He gave the girl beside him a curious glance, watching as she rolled her eyes at his statement.

"Can't you introduce yourself? I'd believe after that whole episode yesterday you wouldn't have any trouble at all getting your name known," the former bluebird poked fun at him. "Besides, I thought you knew everyone already."

"I mean, I know Polly and I think I remember the names of your other sisters and brothers, but it slipped my mind," he replied sheepishly.

"Do I really have to waste my time telling you all this?"

"You don't _have_ to; I was just curious," he shrugged. "Besides, it's not like I'm going to be having regular talks with any of them. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

She seemed to consider it for a moment, then said, "Alright, whatever. But I'm just giving you their names." Beatrice pointed at Polly, then at Thomas, Caleb, Amanda, and so on, stating their first names at each gesture. Wirt learned that the boy who had laughed so outwardly at his ignorance went by Gideon, and that Beatrice had another two year-old sister named Caroline who was sleeping at the instant. Everyone else he'd recalled hearing from before in the couple of days that he'd spent at the mill.

"Your family is really big, Beatrice," he remarked, taking some butter and spreading it over his dinner. "I just have Greg and my mom and stepdad."

"Doesn't that get kinda lonely?" she asked half-heartedly, stuffing a chunk of potato in her mouth.

"Well, not really," he admitted with a shrug. "I sort of like being by myself."

"With no other people to talk to besides your family? No friends? Besides that Sara girl, I mean," Beatrice questioned, glaring at an unknown target in the air. "How can you live like that?"

"I just do, I guess," Wirt answered, taking a bite. "And besides, I don't think Sara's my friend anyway. Not after what happened. She probably thinks I'm a loser. It wouldn't be a surprise if she was laughing at me right now from her place far, far away from here."

He regretted making that mixtape for her on Halloween night. It didn't go how he had wanted it to. Not at all.

"Wirt, hate to break it to you, but you _are_ a loser," Beatrice confirmed, a smirk on her face. "Just in a really awesome sort of way. It's not your problem if she wants to laugh; people who carelessly make fun of others are much worse losers than you could ever be."

"Hm. I suppose so," he replied, eyes distant. Was she telling the truth? Had he had it all backwards all along? Or was she just trying to see how gullible he was? It wouldn't be too far from what she did before with Adelaide . . . He shook the thought away. _No. No, I can trust Beatrice. We're friends._

The redhead opened her mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it, turning her attention to her plate. It was starting to get uncomfortable for the both of them. Better to just keep quiet so nothing wrong is said, right? _At least she isn't laughing. That's a good sign._

A yell from Gideon broke the teen from his train of thought. The light-haired boy jumped from his chair and pointed towards the hallway excitedly, as if to alert someone of something. Wirt turned his head to see what the commotion was about and spotted Jason Funderburker flailing madly, his long frog tongue wriggling this way and that.

_What in the — _Wirt frowned, pushing himself up from his seat and making his way over to Greg's pet. Beatrice and a couple of her siblings got up as well, crowding curiously around the amphibian, who was still in a state of shock.

"What's wrong, fella?" Wirt asked soothingly, reaching down to touch it, flinching when it flung away from his hand. He lifted an eyebrow, watching as the frog beckoned him back the way it had come.

"Wirt," Beatrice tapped his shoulder, her eyes pinned on Jason as well. "What if it's Greg?"

The male took in a quick breath, fear shooting through him. _Oh, no! Something terrible must've happened to Greg._ Without a word, he took off, sprinting past the frog and pushing everyone else out of the way to get to the room. _Please, please, please don't let it be too late!_

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><p><strong>Another chapter! Yay! :D I tried to introduce all of Beatrice's family in this story, so I hope I've done it well! Get ready for some great things in future chapters! (Great equals anything you want to believe . . .) x3 Thanks to all who've left reviews so far! You make my day worthwhile! Leave another if you can! I really want to know what you think of my characters and plot!<strong>


	12. Chapter 12: Brotherly Love

**Chapter 12: Brotherly Love**

Wirt rushed into the small bedroom, his eyes wide with worry. The terrified brother scanned the area for the cause of the commotion, finally resting on his sibling, who was completely covered by the sheets. The young form was but a simple and unmoving shape in the bed. Wirt's heart dropped in his chest, the realization of what must've happened registering in his mind, cold and foreboding.

"Greg . . ." he whispered, the name escaping his lips as he moved forward, closer to the seven year-old. "Oh, Greg, please be okay. Please don't do this too me. _Please._" He set his hand upon the boy, feeling a receding warmth from beneath the covers. _No, no, no. You've got to wake up. Wake up for me now, Greg. Don't go._ Wirt's breath caught in his throat, his thoughts causing him to tear up once more. Not wanting to waste his last shreds of hope, the teen tugged the covers back to reveal Gregory's face.

He breathed a sigh of relief, letting a smile spread across his features. Greg's cheeks were slightly pink, and his skin color was beginning to turn back to its healthy shade, a sign that there was still determination in him to go on.

"You're going to be alright," Wirt deducted, voice soft in his remission. "Thank goodness, you're going to be alright."

o-o-o-o

Beatrice's entire family had came in the room at some point, all either wanting to see the boy or give him something, such as a spare blanket or a bowl of leftover potato chunks for when he was able to eat it. Wirt sat on a chair next to his brother, carefully watching for the slightest twitch or sound. He'd been at it for nearly the entire length of the night, which he sat through with not the least bit of discomfort. It would all be worth it when the wait was finally over. That he was sure of.

Jason Funderburker croaked, snapping Wirt's attention away from the bed. The gnome-dressed boy tilted his head curiously, wondering what it was that he should be noticing. Wirt never found out what exactly was it that alarmed the frog so much after dinner, for the only thing that had changed was the slow recovery of Greg's well-being. Perhaps Jason had only meant to tell Wirt not to give up on him, although the prospect was not once considered past his loyal heartedness.

"What are you getting at?" Wirt wondered, the frog's gestures hard to make out in the shadows, broken only by a lone candle that sat upon a wooden table by the bedside. "Are you trying to tell me something . . . about Greg?"

Jason ribbited his confirmation, hopping up onto Gregory's kettle, which Wirt had placed upon one of the kiddie chairs. The frog made another noise, tapping the metal object with one of his webbed feet, although Wirt couldn't quite grasp Jason's meaning.

"An elephant . . . no. His head is . . . nah. I should . . . make tea?" the brown-haired teen guessed, all of his supposed answers receiving a disagreeing shake of the head. "I dunno. I've never been good at charades. Or talking to frogs."

The amphibian seemed to sigh in annoyance, although it sounded more like an awkward croak than anything. Wirt just gave an apologising shrug, watching as the frog tapped on the pot a couple more times, producing a quiet series of noises. Jason then proceeded to let out a flurry of emphatic sounds from the back of his throat, the familiar '_rorop'_s echoing off the walls.

Wirt lifted an eyebrow at the frog's antics, unsure of the reason behind the disturbance. _What is he up to? He'll wake the entire household, going like that,_ the boy observed, a flash of inspiration suddenly dawning on him. _He'll wake Greg, too, if he were loud enough._

"Oh! I get it!" Wirt beamed, speaking boisterously, in no way taking into consideration the other sleeping members of the mill-house. "You want to make noise so Greg will hear us! Than he'll know that we're here and can try and wake up! It's brilliant, Funderburker! Absolutely brilliant!"

The teen smiled at his sudden outburst, standing from his chair. If he'd known before that he would be praising a frog for being loud in the middle of the night, he'd think that he were mad. But the situation had mostly clouded the boy's intellectual ability, leaving him with the sole purpose of bringing Greg back to his lively state. So what if the had to wake an entire family to do it?

He glanced questioningly over to his brother's bed, searching for any indication that Greg had heard them, but there wasn't the faintest stir under the sheets. _Maybe we need to be louder,_ Wirt frowned, racking his brain for a plan on how to rouse the sleeping boy. _Or perhaps I should give him a motive to move._ Both sounded like fair ideas, so Wirt took to verbal bribery — more specifically — poetry.

"Open your eyes to see the light, for the beauty and happiness of the world is waiting for its time to shine. Untangle your soul from the depths of despair and push away the brambles of darkness. The stars are awaiting the moon's return from the blackened abyss of night, eager to see the delicate glow of peace once more. Keep not a broken shard of slumber; take to your heart the awakening of love. Be reunited to life, be reunited to us," Wirt composed at the spot, speaking with as much conviction and volume as he could muster. "Come back to us, Greg. Don't let us worry any longer."

Jason croaked after Wirt had finished speaking, hopping off of the kettle to land by Gregory's side. The frog prodded him, his intelligent eyes seeking for a response. Wirt stood in anticipation, waiting. It seemed as if the silence dragged on for decades. The older brother almost gathered his breath to try again, but paused, hearing the slightest sound emitting from the covered lump.

It was a groan. Just the barest remains of a groan, but a groan nonetheless. Wirt froze, caught up in the moment. _Is it happening?_ The teen held his breath, listening intently. _Had he actually heard me?_

The room was quiet for a while; no person or frog dared to move and disturb the seven year-old's chances of waking up. There was just too much at stake. When nothing happened for a long time, Wirt scowled in disappointment, letting out the air in his chest.

Jason saw this and gave the brown-haired teen a sharp look, as if to warn him not to give up so soon. _It isn't over yet . . ._ Wirt reminded himself, returning his companion's stern gaze. _I'll stand strong with my faith until the end. For sure._

As if the thought itself had the power to rouse Greg, the small boy resumed his moaning. The watching duo perked up when it begun, praying for the moment of recovery. _Come on, Greg . . . _Wirt hoped, ready to end the tedious delay. _You can do it!_

"I . . . want . . . waffles," the patient mumbled, his voice tiny and weak. "I'm . . . hungry . . ."

Wirt couldn't hold back a cheer, rushing over to Greg's side. Jason ribbited, smiling profoundly.

"Greg! It's me, Wirt. We're back in the mill-house. Beatrice and her family are here," the boy's brother explained happily. "Can you open your eyes? Can you get up?"

The seven year-old said something Wirt couldn't quite catch and fought to open his lids, obviously under a high amount of strain. He did manage to part them to some degree, and those familiar orbs locked with his brother's, causing Greg to grin past his discomfort.

"Beatrice is here? She . . . she says she doesn't . . . like waffles," Gregory attempted to speak, his eyes closing briefly before opening again. The smile never left his face. "So she can't eat them . . . too."

_Oh, Greg. You must've been so hurt when I ignored you all this time,_ Wirt remembered, frowning against his will. _It was all my fault. I should've been a better brother. I'm just glad you're going to be safe now . . . You will be fine. I won't let the Beast trouble you anymore. I will keep you safe._

"Don't be sad, Wirt," Greg soothed weakly, watching as his older brother's eyes clouded with unshed tears. "I know I can find . . . maggots for her . . . when we eat waffles. Are . . . maggots good too? Maybe . . . I can have some. I'm very . . . hungry, brother o' mine."

"Beatrice is a girl now," Wirt told him, doing his best to get rid of his wistful tone. "I don't think she eats maggots anymore. But I'm sure she'll make some waffles for you if I ask. Would you like that, Greg?"

The boy nodded slowly, his beaming face faltering for a heartbeat.

Wirt forced an encouraging smile, ready to leave, when he spotted the bowl of potatoes Nancy had left on the table. They were cold by now, but he thought it would be good to get something in Greg while he was still awake. Picking it up, Wirt sat the bowl in front of his younger brother, placing it carefully in his lap. Greg simply stared at it through half-opened eyes.

"Do you want to eat some potatoes until they're ready?" the teen offered sweetly, stirring up the contents of the dish, hoping the bland morsels would be enticing enough for his sibling to consume. "They're from dinner."

"Potatoes?" Greg whimpered, blinking. "And . . . molasses?"

"No, there isn't any molasses," Wirt responded with a sigh. "I'm sorry. Will you still eat it?"

Wirt's brother was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. He gave a reluctant nod, his stomach grumbling loudly. Greg attempted to grab the bowl with his hands, struggling to change his position. With Wirt's help he was able to sit up straight and lean up against a pillow, his meal now in reach.

Wirt watched him take his first bite. The lighter-haired boy made a face, but gobbled down the food with no more issues, his ravenous appetite finally beginning to get tended to. Energy poured into him with every mouthful.

_Wow. And to think 'dirt' could be this good for you,_ the teen observed as a figure walked into the room. He turned to find Beatrice, who was standing in the doorway, bare-footed and wearing a blue gown, her mouth agape at the sight.

"When did Greg wake up?" she asked.

"Just a while ago," Wirt answered. "I'm sorry about all the noise. Jason suggested that I should make some sound so Greg would wake up."

"That frog can talk?" the former bluebird asked again, her wide eyes shooting towards Greg's pet.

"No, not really. I mean, he did sing that one time, but I've never heard anything else out of him," Wirt shrugged, looking over at the amphibian. "You can't talk, right?"

Jason just ribbited.

"Nope. He can't talk," the fake gnome deducted, remembering Gregory's request. "Oh, Greg woke up famished, so he asked if you could prepare some waffles. You _can_ make waffles, right?"

The redhead responded with a shrug. "We have the stuff to make it in the flour mill, but I'm not that great of a cook."

"Mmm . . . Waffles," Greg interjected, smiling past a full mouth of potato mush.

"Yeah whatever," Beatrice decided, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll see if my mom can fix some for him instead."

"Okay. Thanks, Beatrice," Wirt acknowledged, seeing her leave. The teen glanced back at his brother, who had about finished his food. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Greg."

His reply was a loving expression that gave Wirt a newfound sense of confidence. Things were going to turn out alright after all.

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><p><strong>Heh, sorry for the long wait, everyone. x3 I got off-task with all the new episodes and fics coming out. Gravity Falls is really distracting . . .<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will continue to read on! ^^ I love every one of your reviews and appreciate it when you all decide to give me a few words on what you thought! Please support me with a comment, everyone! c: Until next time!**


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